May God Have Mercy
by Coffeecup35
Summary: A convalescing General Defois sits and watches...and makes a decision. Chapter 2 added. Aramis angst and some Porthos and D'Artagnan whump, all under the watchful gaze of the General.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: A convalescing General Defois watches...and comes to a decision. Outsiders perspective on our boys set after 2: 01

This is my first ever fic...like ever!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers, but if any of the boys want to come live at my house they will be made very welcome : )

May God Have Mercy

Defois felt the pull of pain in his back. The feeling of weakness was not as all-encompassing as it had been the last few weeks, but he knew in his heart he would never be truly well again. The bullet he had taken during the escape would eventually claim him, but for now, the infection had passed. The Surgeon had permitted him out of bed for short times each day. He found himself sitting in the garrison, usually on the balcony outside Treville's office. The sights and sounds of the men practicing with swords and muskets, the smell of the horses, and the camaraderie that attended men who lived, laughed, fought and died together, so much a part of the man he once was. He spent time with Treville, enjoying the rare opportunity to catch up with his old friend and brother in arms. When the Captain was busy with his duties, he would sit and watch, a blanket wrapped round his shoulders at Lucy, and the physician's insistence, though he realised it was Lucy's orders he dared not disobey, rather than the Doctor's.

So for the past few weeks he had been watching and learning about the men, especially the four he owed his freedom...especially the one they call Porthos. Belgar's son. The thought caused his heart to chill with shame. He meant what he had said to Treville. He wanted to tell the boy. Meet his Maker with a clearer conscience, if such a thing was possible for him. But he had listened to Treville's insistence that he consider it further. The Captain's belief that the knowledge could destroy the very young man he felt such culpability over. So General Defois watched.

The warmth and depth of feeling between the four men was clearly apparent to anyone observing for more than a few minutes. The silent communication, the banter, teasing, slaps on backs, arms on shoulders. The easy movements of men at home in each other's company...of family...of brothers . They were a fascinating study.

Athos, the taciturn leader. He reminded Defois a little of Treville. His natural leadership rarely requiring a raised voice, when a simple look or raised eyebrow could stop a raw recruit in his tracks, or seemingly convey volumes to his closest friends. The aristocratic baring still evident beneath the somewhat scruffy hair and beard. Despite seeming at an initial glance to be cold and aloof, his warmth was clear to anyone who chose to look deeper. Defois had been a great General, not only because of his ability to strategise, but also his skill at reading the men in his command, identifying skills and strengths that others did not recognise. He noted that Athos had a dry wit, around his friends. His amusement, and sometimes exasperation, demonstrated in a slight raise of one corner of his mouth. It was clear his closest friends rejoiced in the sight suggesting that he hadn't always been happy or content. Then there was the pride he showed in his friends. Again so subtle only a very careful observer could tell. But his friends, especially the youngest, sought this out.

D'Artagnan, the fire, the bluster, the eagerness of youth. He practically bounced around the courtyard, especially when it came to an opportunity to spar and train. But when the fencing practice started his skill and ability to focus came to the four. He and Athos were clearly the best swordsmen in the platoon, although Defois recognised the influence of their varied personalities on the way they fought. Athos, control and calm, D'Artagnan, passion and exuberance. It was clear that of all the musketeers, it was Athos quiet praise the boy sought more than anyone else's - even more than Treville's thought the General with some amusement. This was the boy who had turned Lucy's head - Defois recognised the signs. It worried him, not that the boy was not a worthy man - if anything his willingness to shoot Defois actually raised him in the General's esteem, demonstrating a commitment to his duty and his country, even when forced to commit a necessary brutality. Defois hadn't missed the way the boy's hand shook though, this was no cold-blooded killer.

No, the reason for his concern for Lucy was rather that he didn't want to see his dear sister as a soldier's wife. Especially a soldier who's bravery and sense of honour meant his likelihood of seeing old age was slim. The way he had jumped on the rope to save his Lucy, without even a thought of the drop to certain death below, had proved his resolute courage, and lack of self preservation! Defois hoped his sister's infatuation would be short lived. He knew she would soon be forced to grieve her brother, but he couldn't bear the thought of her having to lose her husband to duty and battle.

Then there was the dashing Aramis. He found himself glad Lucy had not fallen for him - truly a big brother's nightmare! He lit up around any females that came to the garrison, and his reputation among his fellow soldiers, as a guaranteed triumph with the female population, was legendary. Yet again Defois saw more than the dashing, handsome charmer. His kindness, care and skill when the General had been wounded was fresh in his memory. In many ways he probably owed his life to Aramis's swift and diligent care after the shooting. Then there was the obvious concern he showed for his brothers. When D'Artagnan appeared to be developing a cough he had mixed some herbs for him and watched to ensure it did not seem to be anything more serious. Despite the light hearted and seemingly glib comments, Defois noticed a pain underneath the dashing surface. Moments when he was clearly troubled. His closest friends even commented on it from time to time, especially Porthos. He and Aramis clearly had a deep friendship and trust. They conveyed whole conversations in just a look. He had overheard Porthos tell Aramis he knew something was bothering him, and gently encouraged him to share. When Aramis made a joke Porthos had simply looked at him silently, saying something with his gaze that Defois could not interpret, then he squeezed Aramis's shoulder and walked away.

And Pothos. There were expressions, and movements, where Defois could so clearly see Belgard. The height for starters, he had always loomed over him and Treville. The booming laugh as well, though he seldom heard it from Belgard after they had abandoned the boy and his Mother to fend for themselves on the harsh streets of Paris.

Porthos was a force of nature, a human hurricane, powerful, fast, deadly. Yet at the same time there was a joy and life in him that Defois could hardly believe to exist in one who had endured such hardships. The fierceness in his eyes as he dispatched enemies, gave way to warmth and gentleness as he looked on his brothers, or when his natural kindness showed in dealing with Serge or the stable boy, or as he passed some coins to an elderly beggar at the gates of the garrison. His pride in his place as a musketeer was unmistakable. These men were his family and he would stand between them and hell, defending them with his last breath. His infectious smile, and easy humour brought joy to his friends. He was a man any parent would be proud of, but Belgard had turned his back on this remarkable man, and their actions, Treville's, Belgard's and his own had robbed Porthos's mother of the opportunity to feel it.

Once again the shame crushed him. Defois had served his country with pride and integrity, but his actions towards Porthos...they were without honour, unworthy of a soldier...unworthy of a man. Porthos deserved to know the truth. He had to know. Treville was wrong. Defois knew what he must do, and may God have mercy on his soul.

Note: Well there it is. My first ever fic. I would really value any constructive criticism, as I genuinely have no idea what I'm doing!

I have an idea for a second chapter to this which I might attempt. But in the mean time thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Aramis angst and some Porthos and D'Artagnan whump this chapter, again under the watchful eyes of General Defois.

Note: thank you so much to those kind people who reviewed. I can't believe how exciting it was to see people respond to my little chapter. So here goes another try.

As 2:04 showed the General died. So this is set sometime before that.

Oh and I have seen people spelling Defois as Du Foix. So I apologise for getting it wrong. I considered correcting it this chapter, but since I started out the other way I thought I would just go with it. So please bear with me : )

Once again don't own the boys...though a girl can dream.

The tightness in his chest was more prevalent today. He had succeeded in hiding the painful wheeze from Lucy so that she would not interfere to prevent him from making the short journey to the garrison. Treville had welcomed him warmly as always, but it was clear the man was busy - the weight of leadership a feeling Defois was all too familiar with. So, after a few passed words, he stationed himself on the balcony and watched. The weather was mild and pleasant, a spring fragrance and freshness in the air. Defois knew in his heart it would be his last spring, but it was not this thought which cast a heavy pall over his mind today and robbed him of any delight or pleasure in the season. Rather it was the thought of what his conscience insisted he must do. It had been weeks since he had resolved to tell Porthos the truth, but the busy life of a musketeer had afforded him no opportunity to speak with the man. He and his friends had been called away on the Kings business, a secret mission, the details of which he was not privy to. He understood the discretion of command, Treville shared little of his work with him. Whatever had gone on had the Captain looking haggard. Other missions followed, and Defois began to notice that not all seemed right between the friends. Aramis was seen less often with his brothers - Defois had heard Porthos comment on this, he seemed disturbed by his friend's withdrawal from them. The General had yet to enlighten Treville of his decision, he knew his old friend would not stop him from speaking to Porthos, but he would also not approve.

Defois's musings were interrupted by a yell and galloping hooves. Athos raced into the yard on his black stallion, leading an empty mount. D'Artagnan followed, hunched over in his saddle as if barely hanging on, a bandage round his head, and grimace of pain on his face. A small cart led by a horse followed. Aramis driving it, barely allowing it to come to a stop before he leapt down and ran to the back. Athos called out for help as other Musketeers converged on the cart. Athos helped D'Artagnan down, supporting him as the boy's knees buckled when he hit the ground. But it was the sight in the back of the cart which made Defois' blood freeze. Porthos lay, chest swathed in bandages, red seeping through them. Aramis directed some of the other Musketeers as four of them lifted the big man out of the cart, eyes closed, face ashen. Aramis' sharp orders to the men at odds with the gentle way he helped support Porthos head, as if he were something fragile and infinitely precious.

Defois dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the pull of his still painful wound. Treville had arrived beside him. Gripping the balcony rail and shouting down to Athos. The younger man called back saying they had been attacked by bandits on the outskirts of the city but the documents were safe.

The wounded were ushered, or carried into the infirmary, Treville following. Leaving Defois with the fear that he had waited too long. He may never get the chance to tell the young man about his father.

Defois sat on the balcony for two hours, but no news came. A surgeon arrived and water was carried into the infirmary at various stages. Reluctantly Defois headed back to his lodgings. He knew better than to be in the way at such a time, especially when the rest of the garrison were waiting for news on their comrades too. He did not want to intrude, and he knew Lucy would be looking for him and worrying. He prayed that when he returned the next day there would be good news... that he still had a chance at redemption.

The next day found him weak and exhausted, unable to leave his bed other than to shuffle to the chamber pot. Lucy stood watch like a solo army, preventing him from any attempt to leave his room. So he allowed himself to rest, and prayed he would have the strength tomorrow to drag himself to the garrison to check on Porthos. There had been no news from the regiment about the wounded. To his great relief he felt able to get up the following day. So, making his escape while Lucy was at her toilette, he slowly made his way to the garrison. Treville, he was informed by a young musketeer, was at the Palace. He asked after Porthos and D'Artagnan and was informed they were both in the infirmary being tended to by their friends. He struggled with himself as to whether or not to intrude, but in the end he had no choice - he needed to know. So he painfully ascended the stairs to the sick room. Opening the door the tang of sickness, sweat and the coppery scent of blood greeted him. Aromas he remembered all too well.

Curtains were drawn in the darkened room. And a few candles provided a flickering light. D'Artagnan lay on a cot at one side of the room, asleep, with a pinched on his face. Athos sat in a chair by his bed, head tipped back, hat over his eyes, legs propped beside the boy, apparently also asleep. And on the other bed lay Porthos. Pale face, skin clammy, very still, but Defois noticed with relief, still breathing. Aramis sat on a stool beside his friend rosary in one hand while the other rested on his friend's wrist, his head was bowed and he seamed to be praying.

He raised his head as Defois cleared his throat, a look of sheer exhaustion on his handsome face.

"I came to inquire after your friends"

"General" Aramis began to rise, but Defois stopped him with a gesture.

"Please I do not wish to intrude, but I feel indebted to you all for my rescue, and wished to ask after the wounded" Defois found his own breath coming short again, and had to pause before asking

"will they recover?"

Rubbing a hand tiredly over his face Aramis replied. "D'Artagnan has a nasty concussion, his head aches, but the darkened room eases it a little. He needs to rest, but should soon recover. Porthos..."

Aramis paused seeming to compose himself

"The wound was ...bad. He lost a lot of blood. Infection caused a fever...I feared..."

Again he stopped, eyes focused on his motionless friend, then seemed to sigh in relief

"Thank God the fever broke a few hours ago, Porthos is strong, the strongest man I know, I believe he will recover"

At that a small smile broke across his face, as if he was only starting to believe it himself. He continued to speak eyes never leaving Porthos face, almost as if he had forgotten Defois was even in the room.

" It was close this time...I thought...he was defending me, he took the musket ball for me."

Suddenly he was angry " He should not have done that! I am not worthy of his sacrifice!"

Defois had seen such self recrimination before, he could not let the man continue in his guilt.

"From what I have seen of you all, of course he would protect you, just as you would do the same for him."

Anguished brown eyes turned towards him, voice cracking as he cried

"My life is not worth his! Porthos is the best man I know. Kind, despite the cruelties he has known. He is good and loyal, and I...all I do is bring pain and suffering to those I care for."

Defois heart went out to the man, he desperately wanted to offer some comfort, but he was a stoic old soldier, comfort and flowery words were not his forte. Still he needed to offer something .

" I may know little of you or Porthos, but from what I have observed I am quite sure your friend in the bed there would strongly disagree. "

" Porthos opinion of me has always been too high, he does not know...he does not know all that I have done. Perhaps by not telling him it is me protecting myself, not him...protecting his good opinion, perhaps I am a coward? I couldn't bear to have him hate me."

" Porthos could never hate you."

Both Defois and Aramis startled as Athos aristocratic tones echoed through the room. Neither had noticed him awake and listening.

" You are his brother, he will forgive you whatever sins you may think you have committed."

Athos gave Aramis a look that Defois couldn't quite understand, but it might have been warning.

"He will fight to protect you always. Just as you will fight, or speak, or stay silent to protect him." Again a pointed look.

Then his blue eyes softened as he looked warmly on Aramis.

"We are family. We are flawed, and imperfect, - even Porthos"

Athos smiled at the man on the bed before continuing.

"But we are family, we will forgive and bear with each other. And I know Porthos would not wish to hear you say such things of yourself. In fact were anyone else to say it of you I'm quite sure they would be nursing their jaw. Now rest my friend" he said, walking over and putting his hand on Aramis shoulder. " I will take the next watch"

Turning to Defois he added " Thank you for enquiring after our friends General."

It was a dismissal, a polite one, but a dismissal nonetheless. However Defois couldn't blame him for it. There was clearly more going on here than The General understood. He knew about the confidences and secrets of brotherhood, that was why he and Treville had kept silent so long. These men were a family. They protected each other, protected their bond. As Defois was about to take his leave a groan from the bed rendered his presence irrelevant to the others. Athos and Aramis had eyes for nothing but their slowly awakening friend on the bed. Defois's own smile was nothing to the broad beams which graced the other two as Porthos groggily opened his eyes.

" wha 'appened?" He slurred.

" You threw yourself in front of a musket ball you great idiot!" Huffed Aramis

" mmphh?" Porthos' face somehow managed to convey sleepy indignation at the slur, which only made Aramis' smile broader.

" Don't mind Aramis, you know how crotchety he gets when he doesn't get his beauty sleep" drawled Athos

" I'll have you know that beauty as perfect as mine cannot be diminished!"

Porthos smiled, only to have a look of panic snatch it away "D'Art?"

He said trying to sit up, only to be quickly stopped by Aramis hand on his shoulder.

"He is fine, ... as will you be by the way!" trust Porthos not to ask about his own condition "Though you have managed to give Athos some new grey hairs."

Rolling his eyes Athos added " D'Artagnan is asleep in the other bed"

"D'Artagnan would be asleep in the other bed, if some people were not making quite so much noise!" Came a sleepy voice from the other side of the room. But the boy had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking just as happy as the others as he gazed over at Porthos.

Defois slipped silently out of the room, knowing he had no place there. As he shuffled painfully down the stairs he realised that he could not be the one to tell Porthos. Perhaps Treville was right, the man was happy here. He was loved and had a family. Perhaps telling him would destroy that contentment, that peace? Once again Defois was torn. He needed to do something to assuage his guilt, something to help the young man he had wronged so. But he did not want to cause him any further pain. Treville was a good man, he knew Porthos well, unlike Defois himself, perhaps he was right? So what could he himself do? Perhaps he could leave him a legacy. Defois had saved quite a bit. Had some holdings. There was only Lucy to take care of. He would leave Porthos something. Something to help him build a future. Something his own father, Belgard, should have done. Yes Defois would make a provision in his will. It was the least he could do. He knew the legacy would soon be made available. And so, decision made, General Defois slowly and painfully made his way back to his lodgings. He had buisness to take care of.

Note: I have surprised myself by how much I have enjoyed writing this. I have really appreciated the kind reviews from this lovely fandom. I really am trying to figure out how to do this, so would appreciate any reviews or constructive criticism.

Thanks for reading.


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